100 themes challenge (Johnlock)
by OpticalWonders
Summary: I've accepted a 100 themes challenge and decided I will make it purely Johnlock. So basically this is a collection of Johnlock oneshots matching each theme – May include angst and dark themes, but I promise all will be with happy endings! (so yeah, expect a lot of fluffy Johnlock) Hope you'll enjoy!
1. Heart

**John finds yet another of Sherlocks' experiments hiding in the fridge and he's not happy about it:**

John opened the fridge in hopes of finding the butter to go with one of those newly baked buns the dear Mrs. Hudson had kindly made for Sherlock and him. But to the doctor's dismay, the immediate first thing he spots is a human heart bagged with ice that is placed right between the cheese and the leftover Chinese from yesterday.

Feeling the irritation building John idly takes out the organ and marches back inside the living room where Sherlock is currently to be found sitting in his favorite chair, texting fiercely on his smartphone.  
John go to stand right in front of the detective, but his presence is not even acknowledged by Sherlock, who simply continues to text away. With a deep frown John holds up the organ.

"Sherlock, what the hell is this thing doing in the fridge?"

The doctor asks annoyed, but happy that he finally seems to get Sherlock's attention as the consulting detective finally looks up from the display of his phone.

"First of all, that is not a 'thing' John, it's a human heart. I would honestly have thought that you, as a man of high medical education, would be able to tell at least that much. Secondly, it's an experiment." Sherlock said in a matter of fact voice before returning his focus back to his phone, signaling that there was no more to talk about.

John would have none of that and ripped the phone out of Sherlock's hands, successfully gaining the attention, as well as a sound of protest from the detective, once again.

"I know it's a heart Sherlock, but we had a deal, remember? The fridge is for food ONLY! No more organs or limps in the bloody fridge!" John growled out, not able to hold back the slight anger he felt at the moment.  
"But it is for science John! And I was bored!" Sherlock said, sounding rather childish.

"I don't care that you are bored Sherlock! Boredom is not an excuse to start shooting the wall or keeping organs in the fridge! I'm sick and tired of coming home after a long day of work to deal with these kinds of things I.. Arrg!" John threw his hands up in frustration only to slump down into his own chair and buried his face in his hands. The heart now left on the coffee table.

This time Sherlock at least had the decency to feel a little guilty. He slowly stood and walked towards John, whose head was still in his hands. Sherlock seated himself on the armrest beside the doctor and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"Sarah giving you a hard time at the clinic?" Sherlock stated more than asked.

"You have no bloody idea." John mumbled tiredly.

"Dinner at Angelo's tonight?" Sherlock asked.

"Your treat?" John said, his head still in his hands.

Sherlock smiled. "Of course." The detective answered.

John lifted his head to see Sherlock smiling down at him and then returned the smile.

"Deal." The doctor said and stood to return the heart to the fridge before it would start to smell.


	2. Embarrassing

**John returns home from work to a surprise and a good laugh:**

John was slowly making his way towards 221B Bakerstreet with his arms full of groceries bags. It was relatively late as work had dragged out at the surgery _"Damn paperwork"_ John thought angrily. Then he had to rush to the store before closing time, as the majority of the content in their fridge, kudos to Sherlock and his constant need for gore filled experiments, was severed limps and organs. By now John was tired and exhausted after a long day and finally making it home _should_ have been a relief, but John found himself already dreading what state the flat might be in after Sherlock had been alone the entire day, once again the shooting 'accident' came to mind. The doctor had texted Sherlock earlier in the day, informing that he would be late from being hold up at work and Sherlock had texted him repeatedly during the rest of his shift, complaining that he was bored, that there was no interesting murders to occupy his mind and that John should just ditch work and come home early. The texts however had stopped approximately 2 hour ago and even though should be relieved that he could finish his work without any more interruptions it only fuelled his worry even more as it could only mean one thing, Sherlock had found an outlet for his boredom. John just prayed in didn't involve another kitchen explosion as the mere thought of having to clean up before having to make dinner and then persuade Sherlock to actually eat something was almost enough to give him a headache.

Finally John reached his destination and, with practiced ease, opened the door with his elbow and let himself inside. Immediately as he entered John's soldier instinct told him that something was wrong. It wasn't a feeling of danger it was more like a feeling of unbalance.. Like something was out of place. Taking note of his surroundings John first realised that Mrs. Hudson's flat was completely silent and the lights were out. That's funny, their landlady was usually home by this hour and more often than not came out and greeted John warmly when coming home from work, especially when he was late, with a motherhen look in her eyes and a reminder for him not to work himself too hard. The second thing he noticed was the silence.. No sound of gunshots, or of the violin or of Sherlock loudly complaining to his skull of the plain and stupid normality of the world. Sherlock rarely suffered of boredom in silence.

Curious and maybe even a bit more worried than before, John quickly made his way up the stairs with the bags and struggled a bit with the door on the top, which also for some reason had been closed. When he finally succeeded in turning the handle and opening the door he was immediately greeted by soothing warmth coming from the burning fireplace as well as an overwhelming delicious odour flowing from the kitchen and as he looked around he found to his surprise and delight that the entire flat was neat and particularly spotless! John couldn't help but pinch himself just to check if he was really awake.

Just then Mrs. Hudson exited the kitchen, wearing a pink apron adorned with a vivid flower print and wiping her hands off in a tea towel, as she saw John her smile widened.

"Oh John there you are dearie, welcome home." The elderly woman said warmly and threw her arms out as she walked closer to embrace the good doctor.

John, though still confused, quickly put down the bags and returned the soft embrace before asking.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson.. Err, not to sound rude or ungrateful, but what in the world..?" John started, but didn't even get to finish his question before Mrs. Hudson answered.

"Oh Sherlock told me you were working late again dear and you always work so very hard both here and at the hospital. Sherlock and I thought you deserved a little brake so we got busy as you can see." The cherry landlady said fondly.

"Indeed, really.. Wow Mrs. Hudson, that's so thoughtful I don't even know how to thank you enough." John Said gratefully with a soft smile on his lips.

"So where's Sherlock now?" John then asked, not seeing his detective roommate anywhere.

"Oh he's in the kitchen finishing dinner, I hope you're hungry dear." Mrs. Hudson chimed cheerfully.

"Sherlock cooking?! That I've got to see!" John laughed slightly as he quickly pulled of his jacket and made his way towards the kitchen, but before he made it all the way Sherlock emerged.

"Mrs. Hudson the sauce is boiling, should I add the cream now? Oh.. John.. Hello, welcome home." Sherlock said a bit bewildered since he had actually been so engaged in this cooking ordeal that he hadn't even registered John's arrival. His curly hair was slightly ruffled and he had a bit of flour on his right cheek, but that wasn't the reason as to why John Watson immediately broke into a laughing fit so intense that he had to take to his sides and bend forward from laughing so hard when he saw Sherlock's appearance.

Sherlock was wearing a bright pink apron with heart print and white fringes on the edges.

Sherlock's cheeks quickly turned bright red in embarrassment. He hadn't meant for John to actually see him wearing the damn thing.

"What?! It was the only one Mrs. Hudson had left! This is an Armani shirt John, I'm not going to sacrifice it just for the sake of making you a hot meal!" Sherlock tried to defend himself, but still not able to suppress the flush of embarrassment to spread to his ears and neck.

Suddenly there was a flash that momentarily blinded him, when he looked back towards John he saw to his horror that the doctor was holding up his camera phone, grinning like an idiot.

"Oh I'm going to treasure this forever." John gasped between breaths and fits of laughter.

"John.." Sherlock said in a warning tone.

"Wonder what Lestrade will think about this?" John continued to tease. Of course he had no intension of sending the picture to anyone. No it was to be his own private pleasure, plus it could be used as blackmail to make the man eat once in a while.

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"John don't you dare! I will never hear the end of it!" Sherlock exclaimed and then jumped forward to try and take away John's phone to delete the evidence.

"Give it here!"

But John was too fast and immediately ran off the phone still in his hands.

"Not a chance Sherlock, it's mine now, better get used to it."

Mrs. Hudson watched with feigned dismay as her boys chased each other around the living room of 221B and couldn't suppress her giggle when Sherlock threw John's union Jack pillow at the doctor who had taken refuge behind the sofa.

After a while things settled down once again. Sherlock had reluctantly allowed John to keep the picture as long as he didn't share it with _anyone_. Mrs. Hudson finished their dinner and all 3 sat together at the table to eat and chat. Sherlock even ate without any complaints and John couldn't help smiling brightly through the whole dinner.


	3. Rough

**John had a rough day, Sherlock helps:**

"Rough day John?" Sherlock stated more than asked his boyfriend, careful to let his sincere and fair mix of worry and compassion show in both his face and his voice (as John had explained him that such feelings weren't always truthful if merely stated without the genuine aid of facial expression and voice pitch) as John buried his face into Sherlock's neck, inhaling his cologne and wrapped his hands tightly around the taller man.

"You've got no idea!" John exhaled exhausted into the detective's neck – relishing in the fact that he had finally made it home to his lover's arms after what had seemed like an endless, bloody crappy day!

Sherlock pulled away slightly, though not enough to completely break the embrace and cast his deductive eyes all over John's body, swallowing all the tiny pieces of data they could find. When he had gathered all the information that had been available Sherlock immediately pulled John towards the couch, sat him down and pulled him close to his chest once again before starting stating his deductions one by one, in chronological order of their supposedly occurrence;

"You overslept, sleep deprived from yesterday's case, having lasted until 4 in the morning." Sherlock said, feeling slightly guilty for that one since it had been him who had refused to let up the case unsolved and had dragged John across London most of the night. He had known John had to work the next day, but it hadn't really crossed him to take it into consideration – admittedly, that hadn't been very a caringly-boyfriend kind of thing to do.

But before the guilt could bite into him further John swatted him weakly on the arm before mumbling into Sherlock's chest;

"Not your fault – it was my own choice to stay with you even though it was obvious you could have handled it by yourself."

Sherlock didn't answer, but simply tightened his hold around the doctor a little further before continuing:

"You had to run to the surgery, you fell, tore your pants and skinned your hands." At this Sherlock gently took one of John's hands and gently kissed the raw skin of the palm.

"When you arrived Sarah yelled at you for being 20 minutes late and assigned you all the patients of another doctor who had called in sick, doubling your workload." Sherlock gritted his teeth, he never did like that blasted woman and ever since John had dumped her and especially later when she found out about Sherlock's and John's relationship she had been harassing John more or less on a daily basis, using her position to do so.

"You had two routine surgeries in the morning and one emergency trauma case afterwards, causing you to miss lunch." Sherlock stopped for a minute to think.

"Car accident?" Sherlock asked, curiosity getting the better of him for a moment.

"Head trauma." John answered, not minding the stray question, having learned to love Sherlock's, at times desperate need of needless information and rested his own head back against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock nodded once in recognition before picking up once again;

"Late afternoon you then had to complete extra paperwork due to your extra increase in patients, which must have been about the time your headache began."Sherlock ran his hand gently through the sand blonde hair, gently pressure at his fingertips, causing John to sigh pleasantly.

"On your way home you got caught in a downpour, you couldn't catch a cab and your bus had already left so you were forced to walk home in the cold rain.. And now your shoulder is stiff." Sherlock stated and dropped his hand from John's hair to slip under his jumper onto his left shoulder and gently palpated the cramped up muscles there. Then decided to completely remove the jumper and then buttoning down the first three buttons of John's shirt, then turning his boyfriend slightly so he could work and massage the muscle probably - knowing how much it would pain John later if it was ignored.

John let out a low pleasured groan and allowed his head to fall forwards as Sherlock worked his stiff shoulder, also releasing some of the pent up tension from the day, in which Sherlock had been(not surprisingly) correct in his every deduction, loving every caring, comforting, lovingly caress of those wonderfully slender and strong fingers.

"My bad.. Guess you had an idea after all.." John sighed followed by a low moan as Sherlock hit a tender spot right under his shoulder blade.

"Don't I always?" Sherlock asked, a smile evident in his voice.

John couldn't suppress a smile of his own.

"Point taken." He chuckled.

Sherlock worked John's shoulder for another 10 minutes before rising and walking towards the kitchen, returning a couple of minutes later with a cup of steaming hot tea and some aspirin in his hands to help the headache.

John accepted the items with a grateful smile and quickly swallowed the offered pills, washing them down with some tea. When the tea was gone Sherlock bent down at John's feet and made quick work of untying and removing his shoes and then gently yet determined pushed John down to lay stretched out on the couch, ignoring John's small words of protests and slightly confused looks.

"Just rest a bit John, you're exhausted. I'll order some Chinese. I'll wake you up when it gets here." Sherlock said, not leaving any room for objections.

John smiled softly, finding no point in denying the exhaustion and sleepiness he indeed was feeling.

"Alright, just a few minutes though." He mumbled, already feeling himself getting dragged under, the lack of sleep and the stressful day really taking its tool by now.

Sherlock smiled a little in victoriously, having suspected John would have put up a bit of a fight, but happy to find that that wasn't the case.

Sherlock bent down, cupping the cheek and planted a soft kiss on John's lips.

"Thank you Sherlock." John managed to sigh out just before sleep consumed him.

Sherlock smiled affectionately.

"Always John, always."


	4. Fight

**This wasn't really intended to be this long, but it just seemed like this fic took a life on its own and once I'd begun I just couldn't stop again. I'm actually really happy with how it turned out so I hope you all will be too. Warning for past drug use and a lot of angst, but don't worry! I weighed all the angst out with tons of fluff as well. Hope you like it.**

 **Sherlock and John get into a fight that nearly destroys their relationship:**

Sherlock sat on his chair, legs drawn up to his chest and head in his hands while weaves of despair washed over him. He was sad, he was alone.. He was an idiot…

He had _sworn_ to himself he would never do something like this. But he had been so angry and his control had slipped just as the words of this evening had just slipped from his mouth. He realised now, more than anything, that he had truly hurt the only person who had ever made him feel loved and accepted for whom and what he was. He'd betrayed the man who had never shown him anything but loyalty, admiration and angel-like patience. A man who least of all deserved to be hurt by anyone. The first, last and only love of his life..John.. He had hurt h _is_ John..

Sherlock's hands tightened in his unruly brown curls and the clenching pain in his chest tightened even further. That was wrong.. He no longer had the right to even think of John Watson as 'his' anymore. The words that had escaped his lips tonight had been cruel, harsh and entirely unforgivable and judging from the pain he had seen so clearly painted across his lover's face, right before he'd left the flat. Let's just say it didn't even take a consulting detective to know he'd probably just made the biggest mistake of his life.

In a sudden moment of fuelling anger Sherlock leapt from his chair and picked up the nearest object in arms reach, which turned out to be the mantelpiece skull and tossed it hard against the wall opposite to him. A loud crack followed as it hit and acquired a rather impressive fracture. Sherlock stared at it for a while before all his energy left him once again and he crumpled to the floor, now leaning against the bottom of the chair. Briefly wishing that the skull was his own. God knows it was what he deserved after everything he had done to John tonight…

 **2 hours earlier:**

Sherlock was furious as he stomped up the stairs closely followed by an exhausted as well as exasperated John, who had to halt at the top of the stairs as his boyfriend slammed the door shut after himself and right in the doctor's face. John sighed and mentally prepared himself for an evening filled with sulking and silent treatment before he opened the door and walked inside the flat. Sherlock had already slumped in his leather chair. His back was resting against one armrest and his long legs thrown over the other. His arms were crossed and his face was an angry sulking mask. His mud covered coat and blue scarf had been thrown carelessly to the floor upon entry. John had no doubts that it would end up being he who'd have to wash and hang them later.

Sighing, but carefully sidestepping the garments the doctor silently hanged his own muddy coat. He was beginning to feel the adrenalin from the eventful evening wearing off and just now became aware of how cold he actually felt in his drenched and dirty clothes as a shiver ran through his body.

"Do you mind if I take the first shower?" He asked and turned to his still sulking boyfriend.

Sherlock didn't even offer him a single glance, much less an answer. Anger still brewing strong, but silently under the surface.

"Do you want some tea? I could put the kettle on and maybe lit up the fireplace before I hit the shower." John offered. Sherlock's clothes and hair was damp as well. He may not be showing it, but John knew he had to be feeling cold as well.

Sherlock's only response was to turn his head and glaring eyes further away from John and continuing his silence in an attempt to completely ignore the doctor's presence.

Usually John was patience as a saint with Sherlock, but at this moment he was exhausted, sore and freezing and therefor his patience was becoming a little thin by this point.

"Seriously Sherlock?! Are you just going to sit there and sulk the rest of the evening and pretend I'm not here?!" John pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down a bit.

He knew Sherlock was mad.. Very mad.. Just half an hour ago they had lost their suspect, a man named Reggie Jones in a chase. The man was a professional, highly skilled and military trained hitman who had decided to go freelance and since killed 4 people from his private (and very long) revenge list. They had been chasing his tail for the past 4 hours through the narrow alleyways, rooftops and tube stations throughout London.

"Listen I know that you're.. upset.. But we'll just have to put this evening behind us. We'll catch him next time." John tried to sound reassuring, even though he knew it was unlikely to work.

Sherlock had been ecstatic. Jones had given him everything he cherished in a case. He was cunning, clever, effective and shockingly good at what he did. Sherlock had revelled in solving the puzzles and answering the questions no one else could answer and finally, after 3 weeks of little sleep, even less food, hours on the violin and a dozen of experiments they had finally been able to make their final move and bring in 'The bull's-eye killer' as the papers had fittingly named him as he was known for never missing his target. Unfortunately things hadn't worked out as planned and Jones had managed a hazy escape at the end of it all. But things could have progressed so much worse this night than it did and right now John was just happy they were both home in one piece and surely even Sherlock had to see that that was the most important thing of all.

Apparently not, as Sherlock for the first time of the evening jumped up from his chair before taking two long strides towards John, taking great advantage of his impressive height to tower over the smaller doctor and looking him straight in the eyes. His own roaring with anger and glaring dangerously.

"Next time John?.. _Next time_?!" Sherlock shouted angrily before continuing.

"It took me a _whole week_ to figure out this man's attack pattern alone! He's not some amateur who's just going to hide in a hole for a few weeks and then reappear! Now that he knows I've wound up on him he is going to change his _entire_ M.O and have time to correct those tiny faults in his patterns to make him as good as undetectable! Do you understand?! All my work, all these hours utterly wasted! The chance of there ever being a next time is next to nothing! And it's all _your fault!_ "

By this point Sherlock's face had flushed up, becoming deep red in anger. John had never seen Sherlock so furious before. Well, at least not at him anyway. But John was a soldier and he certainly wasn't about to just stand there and take such an accusation and accept it. If Sherlock wanted to pick a fight then Captain John H. Watson was willing to enter the battle.

"My fault? And how exactly was it my fault Sherlock?" John asked in a calm but challenging voice. A voice, which back in his army days, all his subordinate as well as his superior officers had learned to respect and obey without questions asked. Sherlock however seemed unmoved and continued;

"Jones was slowing down! I was gaining up on him! I was this close to catching him!" Sherlock sneered as he held up his thumb and index finger with a tiny gap for illustration, right up in John's face.

"And what do you do?! You tackle me to the ground and then pins me down! That was my only chance to catch him and then you go and ruin it all! Why John?!" Sherlock roared angrily.

John couldn't even answer at first. He just stood speechless with wide eyes the first couples of seconds before he finally regained his wits.

"Why? _Why_?!" John shouted, not able to hold back his own anger by this point.

"Because, Sherlock, Jones had slowed down and turned around with a bloody _gun_ in his hands! He was going to shoot you!"

"Oh please! I would have been fine. That's hardly an excuse for you to sabotage weeks of my work and research!" Sherlock scowls.

"Sabotaging you?! Have you even read the newspapers? They don't call him the bull's-eye killer for nothing Sherlock. That man is the best marksman the military has ever trained and from that distance it was hardly a challenge for him to plant a bullet right between your eyes! I saved your life you git!" John barked angrily. Couldn't Sherlock see that all he'd done this night was trying to protect him? For God's sake he loved Sherlock more than anything in this world, he meant more to him than his own life. He would never be able to forgive himself if Sherlock was hurt when he could've done something about it.

But Sherlock merely snorted in dismay and let out a short taunting laugh which only fueled John's anger even more.

"What?! You find that amusing do you?!" John demanded his eyes and voice clearly warning Sherlock not to anger him further.

Still John was slightly startled when Sherlock's eyes pined back on him, flashing with.. No it couldn't be.. Was Sherlock really eyeing him with contempt? Sherlock was angry yes, but he'd _never_ looked at John like that before. A small pang of pain pierced John's heart even before Sherlock opened his mouth.

"If it weren't for me you would be nothing more than a useless invalid veteran with a psychosomatic limp and a scarred, shattered shoulder, with no one in your life but an alcoholic, adulterous sister, living a dull, pathetic life in a world of greys, wandering around in a world with no need or room for you. I'm the one who have given you a purpose with your life again! So don't talk about you saving me John when it is _very_ clearly the other way around! Besides that, Reggie Jones has already killed 4 people, how many more innocent people do you think you've just sent to their death by preventing his apprehension today? Well done _doctor_!"

Sherlock snarled the last word, ending his rant. He'd been so absorbed in his outburst of anger that he'd started pacing halfway through and now found himself standing in front of the window with his back facing the doctor, his breathing heavy. He thought he would feel better after taking out his frustrations on John, but that wasn't the case. Actually he felt as his chest started to clench painfully with guilt.. That had been too harsh he realised immediately.. Even for him and he knew it. He hadn't meant any of those things he'd just said, but his anger had been so blinding his mouth had just run its own course. Still that was no valid excuse.. This was a bit not good.

Sherlock quickly turned around to face his boyfriend, intend on apologizing profoundly so that John would forgive him and they could sit down with a cuppa together and forget this dreadful evening once and for all.

But as Sherlock once again stood face to face with the blonde his chest practically exploded with a guilt-ridden piercing pain. The pure anguish in John's face was so clearly written in his face, his entire posture was tense and stained and to Sherlock's horror he saw how John were clenching his left shoulder in his right hand and once again favouring his right leg greatly, clearly in pain.

Sherlock's mouth felt dry and it seemed like his heart had dropped to his stomach as it slowly started to dawn on him what he'd done and just how far he'd crossed the invisible line to breaking John Watson's heart.

The silence stretched for well over a minute before Sherlock found his voice again.

"John.." he croaked slightly. He had to say something, do something! He had to make this right again. But John held up the hand that wasn't clutching his shoulder in a motion of silence.

"No.. No more.. You've made your point very clear already.. I.. I didn't know you felt that way.. I'll just.. Go then…" John muttered, his voice filled with so much pain, hurt and heartbreak that Sherlock wished so dearly to just go back 10 minutes in time and plant a solid fist to his past self's cheek before ever uttering those horrid things. Why had he ever said those things to begin with? He couldn't even remember now as his mind desperately tried to come up with a plan to stop John from leaving. It would be to late soon as John turned around, not even reaching for his jacket, and made his way towards the stairs. He didn't get too far though as it didn't take more than a few steps before his one leg gave out on him since he didn't have his cane to lean on and he stumbled slightly.

Sherlock made to run over and help him, but before he even got close John voice cut through the air;

"Don't touch me! I'm fine.. It's all fine.." But it wasn't fine.. Every fibre in Sherlock's body screamed at him that this was everything but fine. Same went for John's voice. This voice didn't sound like John's at all. John's voice always promised comfort, safety and strength.. This voice only sounded broken and hollow..

Sherlock stood frozen in place while he watched with an aching heart, as John stubbornly dragged himself up into a standing position with the aid of the doorframe and leaning heavily against it. A look of shame and embarrassment now joining the mixture of emotions on the doctor's face before he started to slowly make his way down the stairs.

This sight seemed to kick start Sherlock's mind once again.

"John!" He shouted his voice desperate and creaking, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

"John! John please wait! I Don't why I.. I shouldn't.. I didn't mean it! I'm sorry, God I'm so sorry!" He shouted as he ran to the top of the stairs looking down at John's retreating form from above with a look of torment on his face. But John wasn't stopping up or even looking back, he just continued his slow descend of stairs in silence and Sherlock could only watch helplessly as John limped out the door of 221B and into the night.

 **Present:**

" _Wrong.. Wrong.. This is so wrong…"_ Sherlock's thoughts kept repeating endlessly in his head, giving him a headache. John was gone and he had just watched passively as the love of his life had left their flat. He was Sherlock Holmes for God's sake! Sherlock had never been a sentimental man, everybody knew that, including John and John had always been fine with it. Because Sherlock was a man of action. Instead of telling John he loved him he simply showed him. Simple things as making the doctor a cup of tea in the morning, clearing the table of experiments before dinner, massaging John's aching shoulder after a long day of work were just a few seemingly simple actions, but coming from Sherlock they might as well have been small miracles. Besides, the small smile of love and gratitude John would send him whenever he showed a little consideration never failed to make Sherlock's heart swell a fraction more with love along with a feeling of complete wonder as well as thankfulness that such an amazing and wonderful man, as John actually wanted a rude and obnoxious, self-claimed sociopath like himself.

And this was so wrong! Sherlock quickly stood from his slumped position on the floor. He knew he probably didn't deserve John after what he'd done tonight. Hell he probably hadn't done anything in his life to ever deserve John Watson in any way. But of all the things and insults thrown his way by the people around him Sherlock agreed one thing. He was selfish, he knew he was, he always had been and he always would be and John was just further proof of this. Because even though Sherlock knew he didn't deserve Johns loyalty, admiration and love he wasn't about to give it all up now! He had to find John, tell him how much he loved him and convince him of the truth in that fact. He had to show John what he meant to him and explain his horrid behaviour of this evening and then beg for forgiveness.

With his mind made up, Sherlock dove for his coat and scarf before practically leaping down the stairs two steps at the time, his mind already buzzing with thoughts and deductions on where John most likely would have headed. He had barely made it out the door before he collided straight into a hard chest, followed by a sharp "Oi!" from the other man. Sherlock stumbled slightly at the impact, but managed to catch his balance before landing on the pavement. For a brief second his heart leapt with hope that it might have been John who had returned home to him, but unfortunately his brain quickly caught up. The position of the chest where the two men had bumped into each other clearly showed that this man was several inches taller than John. Plus the voice of the other was much more rough-edged, not at all like the warm, shooting tones belonging to his doctor.

Finally looking up Sherlock's thoughts were proven right, but he still couldn't keep the surprise of his face when seeing the man standing in front of him, now rubbing the slightly sore point of contact right above his right pectoral.

"Lestrade? What are you doing here?"

Lestrade huffed and his brow frowned in a scowl of annoyance.

"I need to talk to you Sherlock." The DI answered simply.

Sherlock growled in frustration. Lestrade couldn't have picked a worse time to bring him a case. He needed to find John! He didn't have time for such trifles as murders and crimes at a time like this .

"Go away I'm busy!" He sneered and made to push his way past the DI.

But Lestrade clearly wasn't having any of it as the man growled fiercely and forcefully gripped the labels of Sherlock's coat before slamming him against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath momentarily out of the detective.

"I don't care Sherlock! Now you tell me, what the hell have you done to John this time?!" The DI scowled dangerously, his eyes flashing with anger and worry and hands tightening their grip on Sherlock's coat, keeping him pressed hard against the wall.

Sherlock's eyes widened when he heard John's name. Lestrade had clearly talked with John and knew of his whereabouts, but Sherlock could feel his heart racing in fear and worry. For Lestrade to be this angry with him had to mean that John was more affected and hurt by this evening's events than first anticipated.

"John?! Lestrade do you know where he is? Please I need to speak with him! Now!" Sherlock actually begged and pleading with his eyes, but he didn't care. All that mattered was getting to John as fast as possible. His pride was a small sacrifice to pay.

"No Sherlock.. First you tell me why I received a call from John one hour ago, asking me if I could come pick him up at Regent's park where I found him freezing cold on a bench, clenching his left shoulder and unable to even take another step on his own because his bloody limp is back. Now tell me Sherlock, why the fuck is John's limp even back? The limp _you_ supposedly cured ages ago?!" Lestrade asked, not bothering to even try hiding his anger. He could still see John's form before him as if the image itself was as melted on his retinas. When Lestrade had found John he had never seen any man look as broken as then. The doctor's usually cheerful, expressive eyes had been so dull, emotionless and so completely opposite of John. His leg and shoulder paining him so much that he couldn't even move without the heavy aid from Lestrade.

Sherlock found himself wondering if one's chest could actually explode from guilt and sadness. Scientifically it sounded highly improbable, but to Sherlock it was starting to feel as though that was a very real and likely probability.

"Lestrade.. I.." Sherlock didn't really feel like trying to explain everything right now, he just wanted John back, but the DI had made it very clear he wasn't going to let Sherlock go before receiving a proper explanation. Sherlock guessed he owed him that much as the man had surely already helped John and made sure he was safe and warm for now.

So Sherlock explained everything that had happened, what he had said and done. Halfway through he was surprised to find that it actually helped quite a lot to share the load and burden of his worries and stared to truly pour his heart out to his friend, not hiding his guilt and sorrow and admitting how disgusted he now was with himself for what he had done. As Sherlock rambled on Lestrade slowly started to ease his tight grip until he no longer held the detective pinned against the wall at all.

"Please Greg.. I.. I don't want to lose him.. I don't know what'll do without him anymore… I know I don't deserve forgiveness for my actions tonight and I don't expect to find it either.. But please, I need to tell him how sorry I am.. I need to tell him that.. I love him… Please, tell me where he is, let me go to him.." Sherlock finished, no longer able to look the DI in the eyes.

"Christ Sherlock…" Lestrade sighed and ran his hand through his silver hair, but there was no more anger tracing his voice, only understanding and sympathy.

"You know for a so called genius you're the biggest bloody idiot at times you know that?" Lestrade added as he placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder and started leading him towards his parked car.

15 minutes later Sherlock and Lestrade stood at the reception of a middleclass hotel where John had chosen to spend the night. Lestrade had offered John his couch to crash on, but the blonde didn't want to intrude and said he wouldn't mind some time alone so Lestrade had reluctantly agreed to drop him off right before he himself stormed off to find Sherlock and find out what the hell was going on.

"Want me to go with you?" Lestrade asked tentatively after the receptionist had informed them of the room number for John Watson.

"No.." Sherlock said, his voice portraying much more calmness than he was feeling.

"No, I need to talk to him alone…"

Lestrade honestly didn't know if John would listen to Sherlock. John was known in the entire Scotland Yard as being as patience as a saint and at the same time conveying such authority and bravery that he had rightfully earned an absolute level of admiration and respect from all the men in the department. John had endured war, injury and horrors far beyond what most men could even imagine and until now Lestrade and all others would have guessed the doctor was as good as unbreakable. But John had looked so wrecked and damaged when the DI had picked him up. In the end it hadn't been the war, wound or terrors that had made the great John H. Watson crumble, but just a few spite words from Sherlock Holmes and that may just proof how much John valued the detective in his life. But God, Lestrade had never seen Sherlock look this helplessly sad and guilty. Sociopath his ass! Right now Lestrade was sure of one thing, which was that Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson and that John Watson loved Sherlock Holmes. A duo of two remarkable individuals that worked so much better together than either of them did alone. Lestrade nodded in understanding and patted his friend on the back in an attempt to reassure him a little. He sure as hell hoped this would work out for the better.

"Alright mate, I'll just pop off then. You've got my number so don't hesitate to call if needed, alright?"

Sherlock nodded absently, his eyes already fixed on the stairs that would lead him to John's room.

John sat on the hotel's bed. This unfamiliar bed, that had held so many strangers, but still smelled of nothing particularly. John's bed had used to be like that right after he'd returned from service in Afghanistan, but that had mostly been because he had hardly slept in it. Too many nightmares.. But all that had changed after meeting Sherlock. Now John's bed smelled as a wonderful mix of washed sheets, cologne, earth, a hint of chemicals, shaving cream and expensive shampoo. All the mixed scents of Sherlock and John contained in that small shared space. John couldn't help but let out a small sigh of frustration and sadness as he realized he wasn't going to get any sleep this night. This bed was all wrong and worst of all it completely lacked the warm comforting feeling of having a warm slim body to wrap his arms around as he had grown so accustomed to.

In a sudden fit of hopelessness John lashed out and smashed his left fit against the wall besides him, but immediately regretted it as it sent a piercing pain all the way up his arm and settled in his already throbbing shoulder.

"Fuck.." He hissed through clenched teeth as he cradled his now bruised knuckles to his chest. Another wave of despair threatening to pull him down as he realised once again how right Sherlock had been.

Who was John Watson without Sherlock Holmes? No one it seemed. Sherlock had become such a vital part of his life without him even hardly noticing and he could no longer see how to go on without the detective. Until now John had convinced himself, that it at least it seemed like Sherlock had become as dependent on John's presence in his life as well. But that was a lie of course.. Sherlock was still Sherlock without John at his side. Still that amazing, stunningly beautiful genius he had always been. How could John have been silly enough to believe that he'd actually made a difference in the detective's life? Stupid.. He was so stupid and utterly useless… Yet another thing that clearly hadn't changed since his return form service..

He sat there and tried to push away the hurt and anguish when a soft knock on the door pulled him out of his current train of thoughts. It was probably Greg coming back to check on him he realized. The man had been very reluctant to leave John at a hotel, but John couldn't face having to explain his fight with Sherlock and end up on the receiving end of what was sure to be looks of pity and sympathy. Good mate Greg, John knew he owed him big time after this as he had actually come out so late in the evening to get him without even asking a single question beforehand. He really didn't have the energy to deal with anyone right now, but still Greg didn't deserve to be sent away through a locked door. The least he could do was go out and explain to him that he needed some time alone for now.

With a pained groan and more effort than should've been needed John got himself pushed up from the bed and slowly made his way towards the door on a shaking, painful leg, which he mentally profoundly cursed once again.

"Greg listen it's fine.. I just want to be alone for a bit alright?" John started as he neared the door. In a swift motion he unlocked the door, intending to send the DI off with a fake smile of reassurance, which he had mastered ages ago, but hoped he'd never needed to use again.

But as the door slowly swung open John wasn't met by the tall silver haired man as he'd expected. Instead he was faced with the sight of mesmerizing eyes, sharp cheekbones and curly auburn hair. Traits he would recognize immediately anywhere.

John quickly tried to slam the door shut again. Sherlock couldn't see him like this! He was so damn weak and pathetic and Sherlock had already made it quite clear how many shortcomings and flaws he was already in possession of. The last thing he needed right now was giving the detective more ammunition to rip the rest of him apart. But before John could fully close the door Sherlock had already been prepared and shoved his foot in-between the frame and door, ignoring the pain as John desperately tried to push it closed anyway.

"John please! Please listen to me!" Sherlock begged through the small gap, his eyes pleading as much as his voice.

"Go away Sherlock! Leave me be!" John shouted and tried once again to shove the door shut even though he already knew it was a futile endeavour.

Sherlock pushed on. He knew deep inside of himself that this conversation would either make or break them. This was his only chance to win back and keep John Watson or lose him forever.

"John I'm sorry God I'm so, so sorry.. I know I'm the last person on earth you want to see right now.. I know I have no right to even be in your presence, but please! I know what I did was unforgivable and I understand if you never do forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am.. I always swore to myself that you were the one person I would never hurt, that I would do everything in my power to protect and cherish and I failed…"

"Yeah well, the truth often hurt doesn't it…" John spat, not able to contain himself. Sherlock, despite his slim body, was stronger than he looked and although John was much more muscular and stronger than Sherlock under normal circumstances, his shoulder and leg was starting to protest greatly under the stain of trying to keep the door closed. He didn't know how much longer he could keep Sherlock on the other side of the threshold.

Sherlock felt a cold stab of pain in his heart as he heard John utter those words.

"Oh John.. None of what I said was true.. None whatsoever.. I said those things out of spite and anger and I know that is no excuse. But it was lies and lies only.. John, you mean more to me than life itself, without you I cannot function.. You know I'm often accused of being heartless, but without you I truly would be.. I love you John Watson, you _are_ my heart."

Suddenly the door was swung violently open and the two men stood face to face. John's eyes were still filled with pain and anguish, but his lips were in a tight line and as he spoke his voice was tense and low;

"You said there was no need for me in this world.. That I was an invalid useless veteran.. That _you_ are the only reason that I still have a purpose in this life! You know why I'm so angry?! Because you're bloody right, like you always _bloody_ are! Without you I'm useless.. Whatever I am in this world I am because it's how you made me.. Without you I wouldn't even be here… So there you have it.. You're right and I've been a fool to ever think you might have needed me in any way, so I think it's best if I'm no longer around to drag you down.. Goodbye Sherlock.."

John ended in a whisper and was about to retreat back into his room before Sherlock would see the tears that had started to gather in the corner of his eyes. But even before he'd fully turned Sherlock gripped his right wrist with almost bruising force and made him turn to face the detective again.

Sherlock's eyes were ablaze and filled with a mixture of emotions; sorrow, guilt, hurt, despair, determination.. Love? John had never seen Sherlock's eyes so emotive ever before and couldn't bring himself to look away from them as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak once again.

"3 years…" Was all he said and John's brow furrowed in confusion.

"3 years?" The doctor repeated slowly, his voice questioning.

Taking the cue Sherlock started talking;

"Before I met you I'd been a cocaine addict for 3 years. Whenever I couldn't find suitable pastimes to occupy my mind I always turned to a heavy drug abuse. I didn't know how else to keep the chaos in my head at bay. Mycroft forced me to rehab 4 times, but I could never stay clean more than a few weeks at top. Lestrade usually was the one to find me in whatever gutter or alleyway I managed to land myself in and he always carried me home to his place to make sure I would be okay. He stubbornly denies it, but I'm one of the main reasons to blame that his marriage was ruined. His wife clearly didn't like having an addict stuffed on her couch so often, but Lestrade always refused to let me out of his sight whenever I was high. He did everything in his power to keep me occupied and thereby away from my substance abuse by finding me cases and allowing me to work with the department as much as possible. But it wasn't always enough.. I was too weak.."

"Sherlock.." John sighed gently. His eyes softened. "Sherlock you don't have to.." But Sherlock cut him off with by placing a soft finger on his thin lips.

"No John, please let me finish.." He whispered.

John could only nod softly in reply so Sherlock continued;

"As I said, despite Mycroft and Lestrade's best efforts I couldn't keep away from the drugs. Mrs Hudson even had to call an ambulance once when she found me passed out on the floor suffering from an overdose.." Sherlock's eyes seemed to fill with even more guilt at that particular memory before he added with a small voice;

"Actually, that was only a month from when I met you the first time…"

John couldn't stop his eyes from widening in surprise after that statement. Yes he knew Sherlock had been an addict, but he'd had no idea that the man had still been in the middle of it when they first met. What a poor doctor he was, he hadn't even noticed that Sherlock was still using when they'd first started living together.

"My God.. How could I've missed that you were still using when I moved in? I should've noticed, I'm a goddamn doctor. This only seem to prove how useless I really am.." John sighed and lowered his head in defeat. But Sherlock gently cupped his face in his hands and lifted the doctor's head slowly, their foreheads nearly touching and their eyes locked tightly.

"No I don't think you understand John. Ever since I met you.. Since the very first day you walked into my life that day at Bart's I haven't looked yet alone touched even a milligram of cocaine. I haven't even felt the slightest effect of withdrawal symptoms since I first laid my eyes on you. I don't know how, but you immediately filled up a void inside of myself that I hadn't even been aware existed. You completed me right there like the final piece of a puzzle and you did it without even trying. So John.. My dear John.. Please believe me when I say that whatever horrid lies and evils I so carelessly let escape my lips tonight were just that.. Because you may not know it John Watson, but you have saved me a thousand times over and I love you."

As the very last word had escaped Sherlock's mouth he closed the last distance between them and planted a sweet kiss on John's lips. It wasn't demanding or pushy, just a soft and simple press of soft lips pressed against each other, unhurried and reassuring, but it still filled John with a warmth and love so incomparable that it felt like taking the first grasp of air after nearly drowning in icy water. Slowly and without, breaking their kiss, John slid his hands up Sherlock's shoulders, caressing the long elegant neck and then into soft curls pulling them just a little closer. Sherlock responded by letting his arms wrap around John's middle allowing them to press fully against each other's bodies. When they at last parted John buried his head deeply into the hollow of Sherlock's neck and shoulder and let out a long shuttering sigh of both relief and emotionally exhaustion.

"I love you too you git, so bloody much that it's almost scary, but please.. Promise me you'll never pull anything like this again, I'm not sure I'll be able to handle another round." He mumbled tiredly and tightened his arms just a fraction around his beloved's shoulder.

Sherlock tightened his hold as well and buried his nose into John's soft blond hair, inhaling deeply while his mind kept replaying _"Thank you.. Oh God thankyou, thankyou, thankyou.. I love you.. I love you John Watson.. Thank you"_ over and over in his head.

"I promise John, I promise never again!" Sherlock quickly agreed and pressed several more kisses to the top of John's head while gently rubbing the tense back under his hands in warm shooting circles, mindful of his injured shoulder.

They stood there for long minutes, just basking in relief and gratitude that they still had each other. Finally John pulled away slightly and pulled Sherlock with him all the way inside of the room. He'd already paid for the night so they might as well make the best of it. Besides neither of them really felt like making their way back to Baker St. this late at night. It would be impossible to even get a cap anyway and the need for sleep was quickly becoming more essential. John did however make a mental note to call Lestrade in the morning and thank him.. For everything he ever did.. Unknown to John, Sherlock did exactly the same.


	5. Towel

**Sherlock returns home cold and soaked to the bone and John thinks of a nice gesture to make his boyfriend feel better:**

John was sitting in his armchair, with his Union Jack pillow popped up and supporting his back while sipping a nice cuppa and enjoying the warmth emerging from the roaring fireplace. Outside the wind was howling, rattling the windows, the noise mixing with the soft drumming of rain that was falling steadily.

John sighed in content. It was so very rare he got to enjoy these silent moments that neither his job or his very loud, crazy, dangerous, brilliant, gorgeous roommate and boyfriend often allowed him. Sherlock had left the flat early afternoon muttering some nonsense about bone fragments, lactose doses and antibiotics before declaring loudly his need to go to the morgue and disappearing in a blur of a swirling coat, a chaste kiss and a slamming door. This had left John with almost an entire day to himself. He'd successfully reached the bottom of their ever growing pile of laundry (a great deal of which were dirty sheets he had to admit), the kitchen and living room were both tidied and vacuumed and he'd even found the time to sort out the stack of paperwork from the surgery, which he'd trailed behind on because of a stream of cases Sherlock and he had worked the past couple of weeks.

Right now, there were no cases making him run through half of London and John felt the satisfaction of relaxing after a productive day, safe from the chill of the weather outside. But even though it'd been nice to have the flat to himself for once he kind of wished Sherlock would return soon so they could enjoy a nice evening in, maybe order some take-out and then some crap telly cuddling.

Just as that last thought had crossed John's mind he heard the front door slamming shut. Grinning from Sherlock's excellent timing John got up to pour an extra cuppa to his boyfriend as he heard the heavy trots coming up the stairs. He was pouring the hot water in the kitchen when the door to the flat was opened and gently closed again.

"Hey love, you want some earl grey?" John called from the kitchen in greeting as he reached for the teabags.

John head a loud sniff followed by a shaking voice.

"Y-Yes please, that would be n-nice."

John immediately put the teabags back down and walked back towards the living room. The sight that greeted him was a completely drenched Sherlock. His usually bouncy curls now lay flat and plastered to his head, his coat, shirt and trousers all soaking and clinging tightly to his skin and with lips and fingers that looked more blue than John liked.

"My God Sherlock! Have you been walking all the way home in this weather?!" John exclaimed as he quickly started to pry off the detectives heavy coat, leaving in on the floor for now, before grapping the long, pale, icy fingers in his own warm hands and started to rub them to get the blood flowing again.

Sherlock winched slightly as his numb fingers started to burn at the slightly rough touch.

"It was im-impossible to get a cap due to t-the rain and the subways were w-way too c-crowed to use."

John nodded in understanding, never stopping massaging the hands between his own.

"Look at you, you're shaking like a leaf, we need to get you warm right now or you'll just catch death."

Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly, obviously not affected so much by the cold to let such comments slide.

"Really J-John, surely there's no need to be so d-dramatic. Can I have m-my tea n-now?"

"Soon love, first let's get you out of these wet clothes and into the hot shower. Meanwhile I'll make your tea and order some chinese, how does that sound?" John asked with a smile and fondness in his voice.

"Acceptable I g-guess." Sherlock answered nonchalantly, not really wanting to admit how much those ideas pleased him.

In a few minutes, after Sherlock had entered the shower, John was taking care of the wet clothes and went to find Sherlock one of the big, fresh, newly washed towels. When on his way back, a black towel hanging from his arm, he got a great idea that he was sure Sherlock would appreciate.

Sherlock exited the shower feeling much better, but still able to feel the cold which had settled for the night deep in his bones and making him shiver as the stepped out from the hot sprays into the chilled room. Wanting to get dry and warm he quickly reached for the towel John had been kind enough to lay out for him and wrapped it around his shoulders. But as he did this he found the towel to be surprisingly warm and comfortable, making the chill in the room feel much more bearable. He pulled the soft fabric tighter around himself, enjoying the warmth he received from."God, I have the greatest boyfriend in the entire world!" Was Sherlock's only thought as he stood, Just enjoying the wondrous feeling a little while longer.

John had just placed two fresh steaming cuppas on the table as he felt two long, lanky arms dressed in a blue gown enveloping him from behind and a soft pair of warm lips kissing his neck gently.

"Feeling better I assume." John said and placed his own hands on top of his boyfriend's.

Sherlock nodded against his neck.

"Much better, nice touch with putting the towel in the dryer by the way, it was lovely."

John giggled.

"Yeah, thought you might like that, sure looked like you could use it at the time."

Sherlock kissed John's neck again and pulled his arms tighter around the doctor's waist.

"You're absolutely brillant, I love you John."

John's smile grew in size.

"I Love you too Sherlock."


	6. Teacher

**Tutor:**

 **Finally an update! Sorry for the wait guys! Also my chapters seems to get longer and longer, but I can't help it. I like to elaborate on feelings, thoughts and small details. I think that's what makes stories better.. I hope.. XD**

Sherlock has invited John out to a night at the opera, but as it turns our Sherlock has an ulterior motive to go there as he wanted to meet up with someone very special from his past. John, of course being incredibly sweet and supportive when he leans who and why. 

John Watson stood in front of the mirror, hanging above the fireplace in 221B. He let out a few muttered curses as he undid his sloppy tie knot and started over once again. It had been ages since he had found a need to wear a tie and he was clearly out of practice, but tonight he wanted to look his absolute best. Sherlock had bought tickets to a grand concert at the Royal opera house and the doctor was looking forward to a hopefully great date night with his favourite detective. John knew how much Sherlock himself had been looking forward to this night, ever since he'd purchased the tickets and presented them to John as a surprise. Apparently the conductor of the night was a big star in the music world and had made great success in just the past 5 years.

John was actually rather amazed at just how excited Sherlock was for tonight. Sherlock, who was often perceived as a man with little feeling and lacking interest in anything except murder, chemistry and puzzles (and John of course), had practically bounced around the entire flat with eagerness to get ready. John often prided himself with being one of the few who ever got to see the passionate sides of Sherlock's personality and there was no doubt when you listened to the brilliant detective playing his violin, that music was one of his greatest passions.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't such a great mystery why Sherlock was so thrilled about tonight. John himself really just looked forward to spending the night with his lover, listening to some beautiful music and to savour Sherlock's happiness. But first ting first…

"God dammit!" John cursed again as the tie was still proving him difficulty. Suddenly two long arms reached over his shoulders and pried the loathed piece of clothing from his hands and took over the task.

"Having some problems doctor?" Sherlock smirked and held the doctor's eyes through the mirror in front of them.

"Yeah, Thank you love. Damn thing wouldn't cooperate." John muttered slightly annoyed, but grateful for the assistance.

"Well, your captain authority doesn't work with everything as well as it does with me." Sherlock said in that sinful deep voice of his as he finished tying a perfect knot around his doctor's neck.

John chuckled at the reference to last night's activities. Ever since John had figured out what his 'commanding' voice could do to Sherlock, he'd used it to his advantage whenever he could.

"Ready to go love?" John asked as a way to pull himself out of his thoughts. They had a whole night ahead of them and John intended to enjoy it to the fullest.

Sherlock all but gleamed at him.

"Of course." Was the immediate reply.

John however was faced with another surprise as the couple excited their apartment and saw a beautiful black Mercedes parked right at the curb in front of the door. He'd expected Sherlock to use his magic ability to hail a cap to take them to the opera, but this..

"Is that.. Meant for us?" The doctor asked tentatively.

"Mycroft owed me a favour after that last royal scandal I helped him to keep under the radar. I figured this would be an appropriate time to make use of it." Sherlock confirmed with a smile, knowing from the way John looked at him how much the gesture meant to the man.

The car parked right in front of the entrance to the opera and the chauffeur quickly got out to open the door for the detective due, letting them out on the red carpet leading up the grand stairs. John almost felt like a royalty. This night had started out very well indeed!

Sherlock flashed their tickets as they entered and they were quickly led to a luxurious lobby. Soon both men had a flute of fine champagne (which no doubt cost more than what John made in a month) the doctor quickly noted as he took the first sip. Everywhere John looked he saw nothing but the luxurious world of the London upper class. Women in long, elegant dresses, showing of their long necks adorned with diamonds and men in fine tailored suits and Rolex watches. To be honest he did feel a bit out of place in his old and slightly tattered suit, but when he looked up at Sherlock the man looked like he was right where he belonged. He looked absolutely dashing in his own perfectly fitted black suit and white dress shirt, even for once wearing a fine, slender black tie for the occasion and his soft curls held beautifully in place with a good amount of hair gel.

As if sensing John's discomfort, Sherlock caught his eyes and smiled softly before leaning down to plant a soft kiss on a tan cheek.

"You look absolutely stunning John, you needn't worry so much." He whispered gently into his ear.

And John knew he was being silly, but he still found himself more at ease by Sherlock's sweet words. Of cause he shouldn't care – Sherlock was the only one who mattered. As long as he was happy John was happy.

"Thank you love." The doctor answered with a smile of his own.

"You're we.." But Sherlock froze in the middle of his sentence, his eyes catching something over John's shoulder.

To render Sherlock speechless it had to be something big so John turned his head to find what had caught his lover's attention so abruptly. At first he was puzzled. It looked like Sherlock was eyeing two men across the room, having a heartily conversation, but then John recognized one of them. He looked down at the programme in his hand and found the picture of the conductor of the night. Sure enough, the clear Italian genes, the slightly greying hair, the small rounded nose and soft brown eyes. That man standing in the corner could be no other but André Salieri, the star of the night.

Suddenly Sherlock took a gentle hold of both John's shoulders and returned his eyes to the doctor's.

"John.. I have a confession to make." Sherlock said with an apologetic tone and gaze in his eyes.

John mentally sighed.

"Don't tell me, there's a case isn't there. That's the real reason we're here. It's okay Sherlock you could just have told me. You know I'll always follow you." John started a little disappointed that this wasn't going to turn out as the date night he'd hoped for.

Sherlock however quickly filled in.

"No John – no, there's no case. I very much wanted to bring you here and enjoy an evening with you that does not end with us running across London's rooftops. But I do admit I also had an ulterior motive for coming here tonight."

John felt a bit confused, but urged Sherlock to continue with a soft;

"Go on"

Sherlock's eyes shifted back to André Salieri as he started talking.

"When I was five years old my parents hired a young musician student named André Salieri, to be my violin tutor. Back then he'd just arrived to England from Italy in the hopes of making a name of himself in the world of classical music. But he was a young man in a new country and needed to earn money. My parents saw his talent instantly and offed him the job."

Sherlock's eyes feel back to John.

"He tutored me for 12 years until he had to move when he was offered the chance to work with a grand symphony orchestra in Austria, chasing his dream to be a conductor. Besides you he's the only man I've ever considered a true friend. For almost the entirety of my childhood and youth, his lessons were my one place of sanctuary. The only time I felt truly happy and could escape from the chaos of the world and dark sides of my mind and while I understood his need to fulfil his dreams I was heartbroken when he left me."

Sherlock softly gripped John's hand in his and squeezed.

"Luckily for me you came along and filled a void in me I had not allowed myself to acknowledge. But I always kept track of him and his rising career as the years went and when I heard he was coming back to London to preform I.. I guess I just thought.."

Sherlock struggled to find the words and looked down to his shoes. He dearly hoped John wasn't too angry with him. He knew the doctor profoundly hated it when Sherlock occasionally wouldn't be completely honest with him and John had clearly been looking forward to this night in a long time. Maybe now he felt like Sherlock had spoiled it all with his stupid sentimentality to his old teacher and friend.

"My God Sherlock that fantastic!" John exclaimed happily, making Sherlock's head jump up in surprise.

"You think so – really? So.. You aren't angry with me?" He asked cautiously.

"Angry? Why would I be angry? This man obviously means a lot to you and has been a big part of your life. It's perfectly understandable you'd want to see him again after so many years." John replied and smiled brightly at Sherlock.

"And you're also not upset I didn't tell you about him till now?" Sherlock knew he might be pushing his luck, but he wanted to make sure John truly was ok with the situation.

John merely shrugged his shoulder a bit.

"I suppose I wouldn't have minded knowing beforehand, but I can understand why you'd be reluctant to say anything sooner. After all, you couldn't be entirely sure you'd have the chance to meet him face to face and getting your hopes up to high and me being alert to the situation as well could end with disappointment from both ends. I know you're a private person Sherlock and I think that should be respected."

Sherlock blinked a few times. John and he had been together, in the romantic sense of the word, for almost 4 months now and he was still amazed of how good John was at understanding his intensions and feelings without any explanations. Where others had always brushed him off as being rude and cold John met him with understanding and patience. He was truly lucky to have found such a great man as John Watson to share his life and love.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, his voice portraying his love and gratitude.

Taking a deep breath Sherlock looked back up to find André again so he could approach his old friend. But when his eyes finally fell back on the man he was surprised to see André was already staring back at him with a look of sheer surprise and a hint of disbelief. The night's star had completely abandoned his conversation with the man besides him and with a quick apology to his companion, started to make his way towards the detective in long strides with a smile that grew bigger and bigger on his face as he hastily approached.

"Sherlock? Sherlock my boy is that really you?" André exclaimed, still with that hint of disbelief in his voice as he got closer, his arms already spreading in preparations for a hug.

To John's great delight he saw Sherlock's face light up with the biggest, most brilliant and sincerest smile the man was capable of. A feat John, until now, had prided himself with being the only one able to draw out of the detective.

"André." Sherlock said as in confirmation, his own arms spreading to accept the incoming hug. Another thing John had never seen his lover accept from anyone else but him.

"My Gods it is you!" André almost ran the last two steps and threw both his arms round the tall man's neck and even had to stand on the tip of his feet to reach and padded his former student lovingly on the back in sheer joy.

Sherlock in return wrapped his own arms around his former tutor and returned the gesture with just as much commitment.

"It's good to see you André, I can see you've done well for yourself these past years." Sherlock said while still in the midst of their embrace.

"You too my dear boy, you too! And thank you so much, but let me look at you." The man said in glee as he pulled out of the embrace and held Sherlock by the shoulders looking him up and down multiple times.

"Look at you, I always knew you'd grow up to be a handsome young man. You surely did not disappoint me." He said with a voice laced with pride. John couldn't help but notice how the man's eyes were shining just slightly with a few unshed tears.

"Sherlock I always prayed our paths would cross again someday, how are you? I sure hope you've kept up your violin play, you were so incredibly talented."

Sherlock's smile stayed in place and the detective held his own hands on the elbows of the shorter man, staying in contact as he answered.

"I'm very well thank you and my violin is so too, though I'm afraid I'm not as great as when I had you by my side to pick at my sloppy fingering." He chuckled.

"He's just being modest, he plays absolutely beautifully." John chimed in from Sherlock's side.

André hadn't even seemed to notice John had been there until now, though John didn't blame him. It wasn't every day you got reunited with old friends.

"Is that so, you've got no idea how happy I am to hear that. A talent as great as his would have been a tragic waste if otherwise." The conductor said with obvious joy.

"I agree." John offered back with a smile of his own.

Sherlock drew back his hands from the other man and placed a warm arm around John's waist.

"My apologies, André may I introduce John Watson, my partner in both my work and my life." The detective said with great warmth and joy, making John's heart swell a bit. "John, my old violins tutor André Salieri."

"Pleasure." John said as he reached out to shake hands only to have it greedily clasped between both of the other man's.

"No my friend the pleasure is entirely mine! How lovely you have found each other. I dreamt of the day my dear boy here would find that special someone who would complete his harmony. I hope you bring each other much happiness."

"Thank you, we do." John answered and felt Sherlock's arm tighten slightly on his waist.

The lights in the lobby started to blink indicating the near beginning of tonight's concert and letting people know to start finding their way to their seats.

"Oh my I get that's my cue. Tell me, where are you seated?" André asked quickly.

"In the C-section, row number nine." Sherlock answered.

"My world, that will simply not do! Those seats are too far off and not probably centred to receive the best acoustics. I must insist you be seated in the best seats of the house in a private balcony. I will see to the usher will show you to them." André insisted.

"Really that's too much, there's no need.." But John wasn't allowed to finish his sentence.

"Nonsense my friend! You're my guests tonight and afterwards I must insist we go out to celebrate this long awaited reunion, I will not take no for an answer."

John and Sherlock shared a quick glance and a smile, knowing when arguing would be pointless.

"That sounds lovely." Sherlock said.

"Brilliant, then follow me. I can already tell this will be a magnificent night!" André cheered.

John and Sherlock could only agree.


	7. Crying

John climbed the stairs to 221B in a half run, two steps at a time. He'd just spend a gruelling double shift at the clinic. They were in the middle of November and the flu season was in full flourish. Today had been nothing but runny noses, overly concerned mother hens, crying children and generally grumpy patients. As if that wasn't enough the clinic was extremely understaffed as they too had been affected by the flu and John had unintentionally and unofficially been the one to run the place through this stressful time.

John had almost thought his day would never end but finally it did and now the doctor couldn't wait to come home to his boyfriend and at last spend some quality time with him. As John reached the top of the stairs about to enter their flat his head was filled with thoughts of hot tea, a warm fireplace and maybe a nice takeaway dinner. Afterwards he planned to whisk his detective off to the bedroom or maybe he would simply pull down all the couch pillows and blankets and take Sherlock right there in front of the burning fireplace. Yes he would definitely do that. There was something completely irresistible about the thought of light and shadow playing across Sherlock's pale skin while listening to the sound of the rains soft spatter on the window outside. They wouldn't be able to hear it for long though as it was sure to be drowned out by the detective's moans and gasp of pleasure. John would make sure of that.

John opened the door pleased to see that a warm fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace. It was almost the only light to fill the space except from a few table lamps across the room. Perfect John thought to himself and quickly shrugged off his wet jacket. The only other light in the flat came from the kitchen where soft noises were coming from. John smiled as he started to unwind his shoelaces.

"Hello love I'm home." He called out.

"W-Welcome home. I'm in the..(snif).. K-Kitchen." Came the respond.

John froze on the spot, a tight knot in his belly forming quickly. He could count on one hand how many times Sherlock Holmes had cried and all of those times were when he was acting to gain whatever information he wanted at the moment. But there was no doubt in John's mind. Sherlock was definitely crying. Without any further thought John rushed to the kitchen still with one shoe left on. When he entered he found Sherlock bend slightly over the countertop appearing to be reading a book. When the doctor entered Sherlock looked up and into John's eyes.

John could almost imagine how Sherlock felt when deducing as his eyes scanned his lover's face and came up with conclusions along the way.

Tear steaks running down both cheeks – he'd defiantly been crying.

Puffy red eyes – indicates he's been crying for a good while.

Red at the tip of his nose and under both eyes – Sherlock had been blowing his nose and tried to dry his tears recently. Properly in an effort to hide the fact from John but even John wasn't this blind.

"My God Sherlock! Sweetheart are you alright? No sorry, sorry of course you aren't, that was a stupid question. But its okay, its okay I'm here." John consoled the best he could. He had no idea what could have upset his lover to such an extend, that it would bring him to tears.

Sherlock's brows frowned a bit and it made him look even sadder with unshed tears still in his eyes. John's heart almost broke at the sight and he quickly closed the gap between them and held Sherlock tightly in his arms and pressed the detective's head softly into his neck. That always seemed to have a calming effect on his lover. It had seemed like Sherlock had started a sentence just as he did this, but John didn't catch it.

"Whatever happened love it's alright, I'll make everything alright again I promise. Just tell me what happened. Please tell me." John whispered softly into the soft, brown curls and caressed the long back with his left hand. As he did this another thought hit him and he held Sherlock back out at arm length, looking him up and down worried.

"You aren't hurt are you?" He asked as he looked for cuts or bruises that might be visible, but he was quickly interrupted by Sherlock's hands softly grasping him by the shoulders as he heard a soft.. laugh?

John looked back up at his lover's face. His eyes were still horrible red and tearful, but he was laughing that sweet, genuine laugh that always melted John's heart a little bit more. Now John was really confused one minute Sherlock was crying and the next laughing. Had he missed something?

"While I appreciate you concern dear John, there's really no need to worry so much." Sherlock said with a smile when he finally pulled himself a bit more together. One of his hands disappeared from John' shoulder to reach behind him and grasped a clean tea towel.

"But I heard you crying, I can _see_ you have been crying and for a while too. There's no point in denying it Sherlock. I know you don't like to show weakness, but this is me you know. You can tell me love, I promise I wo.." But John got silenced before he could finish his sentence, by one of Sherlock's long fingers on his lips.

Sherlock was still smiling as he pulled his finger away again, satisfied that it had done its job in silencing his doctor.

"Yes John quite right, I admit I _have_ been crying." Sherlock paused to take the clean tea towel and rubbed it over his face, especially around his eyes, before he continued.

"But not for the reasons you think. I've simply been cutting onions for the past half hour." Sherlock said and gestured behind himself where there indeed, did sit a cutting board with a large pile of sliced up onions.

"As it turns out cutting onions and then rubbing you eye is a really bad idea.. Should probalbly have thought of that earlier." Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed by admitting his mistake.

John's eyes widened with the realisation. He hadn't even noticed the onions until now. He looked down at the countertop with the book Sherlock and been engrossed in when he first entered. It was a cooking book.

"You're making… Onion soup?" He asked in half astonishment and now also half embarrassment.

Sherlock blushed a bit.

"Yes well.. You were so taken with that onion soup when we visited that French restaurant last month so I figured since you'd been working so hard the last week I would try and replicate it for you.. For us I guess. As a surprise."

Now it was John who couldn't hold back his laughter.

"Oh my God.. What a relief! I was so sure something terrible had happened. Guess I should've known. You aren't exactly the crying type. You must think I'm an idiot." John laughed, just so reified that it was all just a big misunderstanding on his part.

Sherlock stepped up and wrapped his arms back around his doctor and planted a soft kiss right on his lips.

"Of course I don't John. On the contrary, I found the gesture very sweet and endearing." The detective said and kissed his doctor again.

John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock's frame and returned the kiss with passion.

"Endearing huh?" He said, his voice dropping several tones. Sherlock shivered.

"Vey.." He replied. His own voice dropping as well.

"What about the soup?" John asked teasingly he didn't really care much for soup at this point.

"Screw the soup, I'd probably have ruined it anyway. Let's just call the restaurant and have them bring us some, the owner owes me a favour anyway." Sherlock said as he started unbuttoning John's shirt and steer them back towards the living room.

John was happy to oblige, delighted at the prospect of fulfilling his fireplace fantasy faster than he'd expected.


End file.
